


Sift

by odoridango



Series: Waiter!AU [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Bathtime Cuddles, Cooking, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odoridango/pseuds/odoridango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren might be the one with the restaurant industry job, but Jean is the one who does most of the cooking at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sift

**Author's Note:**

> Erejean week day 6 was cooking, so I thought I'd add on to the waiter!AU.

Anchovies, mushrooms, seaweed, for fullness of flavor, to bring out the simmering fragrant juices of hot sauces and sticky rice cakes. Tomatoes and basil, goat cheese and balsamic vinegar, a shake of salt and pepper each and the golden, crisp crust of fresh bread, breaking and flaking crumbs all over the kitchen counter. Spinach, blanched lush and green, eggplant, plump and colorful, the mottled nature of spring mix as it spins round and round in the salad mixer, a silly little device that Eren liked to make fun of him for owning. 

Eren was the one who worked at a bistro, but it was Jean who cooked at home. Over the weekend, and in the blocks of spare time between classes, internship days, and piles of homework, Jean cut, diced, and julienned his stress away. Recipes, clipped and pasted to pages, or ripped out of old magazine, sometimes simply written out on lined paper stained and wrinkled with so many times of use, bearing Jean’s mother’s untidy scrawl, notes spilling into the margins. 

Eren always ate everything he made with relish, sometimes literally, when they were tired and hotdogs were all they had. Blueberry pancakes and fresh whipped cream on a Sunday morning and Eren sat close, sun-warm and bright, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue playfully, waiting to be fed like a baby bird. There were nights where Eren struggled with noodles, somehow never being able to keep hold long enough to keep them from slipping off his fork and falling back into soup and sauce with a splash to ruin clothing. When Eren wasn’t working and was home at dinnertime, Jean cooked anyway because the process was soothing, meditative, and put order to a chaotic mind – the rhythmic thud of his knife on the cutting board, the quiet sizzle of meat in the pan, nostalgic smells rising for bubbling pots. Step one, step two, step three, and the food was ready. 

Maybe that was why Eren had cooked for their anniversary. It wasn’t that Eren didn’t cook at home either, it was more that he made simple things, things that made him feel good. In that way, cooking was usually something of a private thing to him. He’d make different types of baklava that would leave his mouth sticky sweet, and he would spend hours wrapping manti or cooking lentils to soupy goodness on the stove, and the thick, aromatic scents of spice were scents that made him think of Eren now, cinnamon in the thick orchid root drink Eren liked to have in the winter, cumin in the meatballs he would tuck into pita and drizzle with yogurt for a quick lunch. 

Very rarely, they cooked side by side. It was always fun, but it was always quick. Paninis, or a stirfry, sometimes just combining and reheating leftovers. So maybe it was that cooking was just a chance for them to have their own space, to spend some times talking to themselves instead of each other. 

But that was fine. There were other things to share. Eren would pull espresso shots during finals week, granting Jean with the most perfect cappuccino of all cappuccinos as an extra wish for good luck, smiling gently as Jean savored the foam on top and dropped kisses over his face in gratefulness. Jean making Florentines and madeleines for no reason other than Eren liking his short tea times throughout the week, a little something to go with his Assam or Ceylon, or any of the dozen new blends that liked to appear in the pantry from time to time. 

“You smell sweet,” Eren said curiously on one of their rare baths, lounging in Jean’s loose embrace and sniffing along an arm. “Have you been baking again?” 

“Not since last week,” Jean replied, puzzled. It wasn’t like he used cologne either, so that couldn’t be it. 

“Like…like milk and honey,” Eren said, brow furrowed in thought. “Sweet but not too sweet. Fragrantly sweet?” 

“Sure,” Jean sighed, nudging closer, smoothing bubbles up Eren’s arm and watching the bath water ripple. 

“I like the way you smell,” Eren said, laying his head back on Jean’s shoulder and patting Jean’s cheek. “Reminds me of how you’re always taking care of me you know?” He huffed. “Makes me feel kind of bad. I shouldn’t need you to take care of me. But there’s always cookies in the pantry, and you’re always leaving me post-its and texts about things—“ 

“Hey, hey,” Jean said, hugging Eren tighter, sitting up straighter against the back of the tub. “It doesn’t cost me anything. I’m not doing anything I don’t want to. Trust me, if I was annoyed about something, you’d know it.” 

Eren smiled a little. “Heh, I probably would. But I don’t want you think that I don’t notice it, you know. I do.” 

Anniversary under the stars, waking up to the smell of coffee, perfect foam leaf resting on top of his morning latte, Eren nuzzling into his back half-asleep in the morning while waiting for waffles, hands tucked under the waistband of Jean’s sweatpants and dozing. New boxes of pasta, bottles of cheap cooking wine on the shelf before Jean could even put them on the weekly shopping list, Eren insisting on washing the dishes after a good dinner. 

“It’s alright,” Jean said, lacing their fingers together. “I know you do.”


End file.
